


the artist.

by rushie



Series: sifki drabbles [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rushie/pseuds/rushie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is an artist, looking for a model, and Sif answers an ad in the paper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She saw the ad in the university paper one morning while she was having breakfast.

> WANTED: female model for painting/sketching. must be comfortable with nudity. serious inquiries only. report to the art building at 5:30, room 301.

She chewed her cereal, made a  _hm_  sound, and then went about her day. But when she arrived at class that afternoon, she found a copy of the paper sitting on her desk, and the ad sprang back into her mind. Around her, some people were exchanging small talk as the rest of the class settled in. She drummed her fingers on top of the newspaper. It was ridiculous even thinking about it. She had a job. True, the biggest perk of working in the admissions office was that she could take her law classes for free and the salary wasn’t exactly  _great_ , but it was a job. She didn’t need to go and be a freelance model for some art student.

Was the modeling gig even a paid thing?

She wasn’t going, obviously.

Which is why she found herself climbing the steps of the art building at 5:15 that afternoon. She was early, she was perpetually early, but part of her hoped that she was early enough that the student requesting a model wouldn’t be there yet, and she could go home feeling like she tried. The ad wouldn’t plague her again, and she wouldn’t have to model, either.

Sif had never been in the art building before. Not very artistically inclined herself, she had always been intimidated by the place. She slowed down to look at some of the framed photographs lining the hallway. Even her untrained eye could tell that they were all masterpieces. Some had small cards underneath that said where the photograph had been published. The door to room 301 was closed when she got there. She hesitated, then gently turned the knob and eased the door open. She poked her head in.

It was a large studio space, with high windows that let in the light. The easels had been pushed off to the sides of the room, leaving the middle space open. She wandered inside, taken in by the way the dying sunlight came through the windows. She wished her apartment had windows like that.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

She whirled around to see a guy lounging in a chair along the wall. Where he was sitting had been obscured by the door when she’d come in. He didn’t have the awkward, stoop-shouldered look of a lot of the artists she had seen coming out of the building. He was skinnier than was perhaps healthy, and his hair fell in an elegant mess around his face. She didn’t know what she had expected—maybe someone wearing a beret and a scarf. He looked normal. His black shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was looking at her with a cocked eyebrow.

"Looking for me?" He got to his feet languidly and stretched like a cat. It was a surprisingly sensual movement, and Sif averted her eyes. He glanced at his watch. "Early. Eager, are we?" he asked with a smirk.

She blinked. “I just thought I’d check it out. I mean, I didn’t expect—” What? She didn’t expect him to be here? She couldn’t say that out loud. It was a stupid thing to say. She cleared her throat while he looked on, clearly amused. “I expected there would be more people.”

He shrugged. “They probably plan to arrive fashionably late.”

Sif wasn’t sure if he was making a joke.

"Well, since you’re here…" He moved over to where she was standing. He walked like a panther; there was something predatory about the way he moved, something almost hungry in his gaze. "Let’s have a look at you, shall we?"

Sif nodded and set down her bag. She reached up and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. He had been circling around her, and by the time he reached the front of her again, her shirt was mostly unbuttoned. He stopped and raised an eyebrow.

"I didn’t imagine anyone would want the job so badly as to want to  _sleep_  with me.” He eyed her for a moment, smirking. “Although I would be hard-pressed to refuse.”

Sif’s eyes widened, but she swallowed and began to button her shirt again, trying to appear nonchalant. “Your ad said that we had to be comfortable with nudity, so I thought—”

"Oh, I meant  _my_  nudity.”

"Excuse me?" He had said it so seriously that Sif spluttered.

He chuckled, and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, you  _are_  fun to tease. It was a joke. Yes, that was more for future projects. At present, for what I am working on, you will not need to be naked. Perhaps partially,” he added, more to himself. His mind appeared to be momentarily elsewhere. “Nonetheless, no need to undress.”

She laughed, feeling embarrassed. “Well, um, do you have any questions for me…?”

"Oh, right." He waved a dismissive hand. "Have you ever modeled before? No, I’m guessing? Ah, yes, I didn’t think so. Shame, though, with legs like yours. Mm. Moving right along. Can you remain still for long periods of time?"

Sif shrugged. “I suppose so. I work in an office. It’s mostly sedentary work.”

He chuckled. “Funny. And that was my next question—your schedule. If you’re hardly available, it’s not really benefitting me to have you as my model.”

She picked up her bag again and shifted her weight onto one hip. “I work mornings, class in the afternoons, but I’m typically done by 5:30 at the latest.”

He nodded. “Hm. Weekends?”

"Aside from homework, I can be available whenever necessary, barring emergency or prior commitment."

He smirked. “‘Barring emergency or prior commitment.’ Listen to you. You’re from the law school, I take it. Ah, a  _lawyer_. How salacious—a lawyer posing for an art student.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I need a little art in my life.” She gave him a smirk that she thought mirrored his own.

He studied her for a long time, taking her in. His scrutiny was interrupted by the opening of the studio door. Several women trooped in. A handful were around Sif’s age—she thought she recognized some of them—but the rest were clearly undergrads. One near the front spoke up.

"We’re here about the ad? For a model?"

He waved them off. “The spot’s been filled—go home. Well? Go on.” He made a shooing motion with his hands when they failed to move.

They cast looks, some curious, some angry, at Sif before trooping back out the door, muttering amongst themselves. He rolled his eyes and turned back to her; she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I’ve got the position?"

He smirked. “Indeed you do.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Loki.”

"Sif." His hand was pleasantly cool.

"Excellent." He tilted his head to the side, eyes shining with a speculative and predatory sort of mischief. "I’ll see you here at six on Saturday."


	2. Chapter 2

Sif showed up at the art building fifteen minutes early, as was her habit. She kept her wide-brimmed hat pulled over her face as she walked from her car to the doors. She ordinarily would have walked from her apartment, but Loki had sent her an email the day before telling her what it would be preferable for her to wear—something black (“And not one of those tight little black dresses you women are so fond of these days. We’re looking for something… _witchy_.”)—and how to do her makeup. The makeup didn’t look  _bad_ , it was just more than she was accustomed to wearing. She hadn’t even  _owned_  black lipstick until that morning. _  
_

She entered room 301 to find Loki already there, setting up his easel and preparing a space for her to stand. He looked around when she walked in and looked her up and down more critically than appreciatively. He started to nod, slowly at first, then with more appreciation.

"Yes, excellent. You’re a natural; I was worried I’d have to find a makeup artist, but you did this excellently."

She smiled, happy for the praise, and removed her jacket and set down her bag. She took off her hat, and he came over. He did some things with her hair, teasing and fluffing. When she saw herself in the mirror he provided, she had expected to look like a homeless woman, but she found she liked the results.

He arched an eyebrow at her as if to say, “Well?”

She nodded. “Very Helena Bonham Carter,” she said with a smile.

He smirked and gestured for her to precede him to the space he had prepared. He showed her the X on the floor he had done with duct tape and positioned her over it. He showed her how to stand, arranged her.

"Comfortable?" he asked, looking up at her through his eyelashes as he kneeled to adjust her dress.

Sif rolled her eyes and tried not to move. “I’m not in pain, if that’s what you mean.”

He stood up and grinned at her, all teeth and mischief. “Excellent.”

Sif wasn’t sure how long she stood there. He played an audiobook while he worked, probably more for her benefit than for his. He seemed to become immersed in the act of painting. When he spoke, she could tell it was to himself. She could never make out what he was saying, but the murmuring of his voice was soothing. She tried to focus on it rather than the audiobook after a while. She thought he might have been singing.

Night had very much fallen by the time he told her she was free to move again. He had given her quick breaks to stretch her muscles, but he had been businesslike then, and he had kept on painting. When she finally turned her head to look in his direction, he had put down the brush and was stretching his own back. She meandered over, hoping to see what he had been working on, but he leapt in her path quicker than she had thought he could move.

He bared his teeth at her in a devilish grin. “And where do you think  _you’re_  going?”

She raised her eyebrows. “To see the painting?”

He laughed. “Oh, no, love. Not yet. It’s not finished. Can you come back tomorrow evening?”

She frowned. “I can, but won’t the building be locked? It’s Sunday.”

He smirked and produced a key from his pocket, dangling it on one finger in front of her. She blinked.

"How did you…?"

"Ah!" He held up one finger to silence her as he slipped the key back in his pocket. "I have my secrets. We should probably leave it at that. Besides," he added with a smirk. "Can’t ruin all of my mystery on the first day."

She rolled her eyes and went to fetch her coat. “Yeah, of course. Same getup and makeup and everything?”

"Oh yes." He looked up and her and looked her over, although this time she felt the predatory gaze she had felt earlier in the week, when they’d first met. His eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary before they flicked back up to her face. "It’s a good look for you."

She snorted, trying to appear nonchalant, and swung her jacket on. She pulled the hat back on her head and pulled the brim down to hide her face. “What time tomorrow?”

"Mmm. Why don’t we say five-ish? I’ll bring dinner, so don’t worry about eating before."

"Won’t that ruin my makeup?"

He shrugged, not quite as concerned about the aesthetic as she had thought he’d be. What kind of an artist was he, anyway? “Sometimes a bit of smudged makeup adds some mystery. And isn’t mystery  _so_  much sexier?”

He winked at her, and she shook her head and left. But as she got into her car and glanced up at the windows of 301 and saw the lights were still lit, she had to admit that he had a point.


End file.
